


We Still Remember

by The_Marvelous_Iron_Anangel



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, Gen, Parent Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Marvelous_Iron_Anangel/pseuds/The_Marvelous_Iron_Anangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tilda is scared and upset. Thranduil comforts her. Adorable feels ahead. </p><p>*Tiny tidbit from a fic I've been working on for a while. Part of a much larger work in progress.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Still Remember

"Master Thranduil, I- I'm sorry. I just wanted to get a drink of water from the kitchen, but then I got lost. And it reminded me how all this started and. . . " Tilda choked back another sob and sniffled. 

King Thranduil dropped to one knee in front of the child. and carefully placed his large hands on her small shoulders. 

"Everything will be alright little one. I promise"

"But what if it won't be? What if I never find out who I am or where I came from? What if I never find out where my home is?"

Tilda's voice grew shakier as she spoke. She was on the verge of a total melt down, a state the father in Thranduil recognized well. He knew he had no choice in his next step. 

Lord Thranduil, fierce warrior, polished diplomat, and cold-hearted king of the Greenwood scooped the small human girl into his arms and began to walk, all the while running his hand up and down the child's back. Tilda continued to sniffle into his shoulder, still distraught beyond consolation.

Without realizing, the king's feet carried to a part of the royal wing he hadn't entered in centuries. An archway of delicately woven willow branches led out to a small courtyard. The smell of lilac hung heavy in the air, and lamb's ears carpeted the ground. A small cobblestone path wound about the courtyard in a spiral. In the center a beautifully carved garden swing hung from a low bough. The elven king sat down with a sigh and pushed off gently with his feet. A melody older than the Greenwood itself escaped his lips as a cool breeze rustled the leaves above. 

Elin i ned în ben-Anor

Na gam hilol na hen rennin

Mi dailf 'waerin lim a gelair

Celweloth lín reviennin

 

Gilthoniel, A Elbereth

Min ndôr chaeron hen din gelaidh

Me i ndorthar sí renim ui

'ilgalad buin Aeair Annui

 

Thranduil's lullaby ended and the swing slowed to a stop. Tilda's soft whiffling snore was the only sound in the courtyard. Over the course of his song, the king had become aware of where his feet had taken him. A single tear feel down his scarred cheek, the only sign of the grief he had carried for a millenia.

"Every day. I miss you every single day, meleth-nîn."

**Author's Note:**

> Thranduil's lullabye is in no way mine. I cannot understand let alone write Sindarin. It is an incredible talent I do not possess. Found here: http://tara.istad.org/songs.htm


End file.
